


At thy will sir

by orion_killer_of_stars



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Once Upon a Time (In Space) - The Mechanisms (Album), Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Author has the vocab of a gifted student, Author is pretentious, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lesbians in Space, You dont have to know the source material/the mechs to understand this fic, and the talent of a three yearold painting with nailpolish, oh god so many commas i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orion_killer_of_stars/pseuds/orion_killer_of_stars
Summary: Cinders put him down hard and fast, knowing she would never survive a drawn-out assault. Whip-quick and quicksilver sharp she disables his dominant arm before he can take a single step forward. Then, almost as an afterthought, she brings her leg around to sweep him off his feet.The noise he makes when he hits the ground was the sweetest music she’d heard in years.Across the ring, General Red stares, indecipherable look in her eyes.Cinders imagines what would happen if she opened her mouth and spoke to this red-haired menace.Every person I fight, I imagine they’re you. Or maybe,I wonder if you would find me as easy to kill as my people.Though, these are not what she really wants to say. If she was honest, maybe she would finally call out-Who are you? And why do you make my heart sing?Or: The star-crossed tale of Rose Red and Cinders, as they try to navigate brutal dictatorships, morality- and, most terrifying of all- Love.
Relationships: Cinders/Rose (Once Upon A Time In Space)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	At thy will sir

Ella’s world doesn’t end with a crash, or a bang- it ends with a laugh.

A soft laugh. A quiet laugh. A laugh more akin to an exhale of air than a laugh- but a laugh non-the-less.

More than anything in the world, Ella hated that laugh.

As if in response, the whine of moon-cannons and the firing of starship engines rose, as the planet-wide shields that had protected Ella’s home-world for a millennium fell. Disabled by the one person with enough authority to do so- The Queen. Not a true queen, thought Ella, a _convenient_ Queen. The shitty replacement model, the offbrand reject, the gold-digging _bitch_. She wants to scream. She wants to shake. She wants to grab the pathetic monarch and _throttle_ her until she feels some degree of human empathy. Instead, Ella steels herself. Stands tall. She cannot save them, but she can remember them. Barefoot and alone on King Cole’s personal flagship, Ella stands witness. She will not deny her people this.

As she watches, the first of the Skycastle torrents fall.

The Skycastle was a testament, a reminder, the symbol of the Tremaine dynasty. It spread for miles, taking up a total of 47% of the planet’s surface- and housing at least half of her citizens. With its beautiful white brick, swirling reflective bannisters, and solid titanium foundations, it dug into the very core of the planet itself- as if declaring _I shall not be moved_ or _try me, punk._ It had withstood endless sieges and constant warfare. Apparently, it could not withstand a thieving stepmother.

A far-off explosion shakes the opposite side of the planet, sending almost-visible shockwaves into the atmosphere.

The gravity wells must have been damaged in the original assault, as the first destroyed tower was still falling, far slower than it should’ve. Another white-out explosion, silent and shaking, hits the northwest quarters. The red banners of King Coles ruthless army swarm over the marble rubble, dangerous, lethal, and incredibly- alienatingly- small. Little worker ants attacking a beehive. Ella is just glad that, in the void of space, she can’t hear her people screaming.

She can, however, still hear her stepmother’s silent laughs

She knows she will be with her people soon. Forced to walk the now bloodied streets of her planet, forced into the throne room with her-

She refuses to call them sisters.

Then she will have to bow, and scrape, and hide the _burning star-cold rage_ that stabbed through her insides. She wonders what has happened- what will happen- to her father, who was split from her when Stepmother’s betrayal was revealed. Will he be publicly ridiculed? Will he be trotted out and displayed as an example, a parable, a _did you see what happened there- King Cole’s fury is instant- oh god – terror?_ Or will he be hidden, Ella’s planet erased, war crimes obscured? For the dignity of her planet, Ella isn’t sure which is better.

One thing's for sure, she thinks, looking over at her Stepmother and it’s disgusting spawn. Ella’s life will never be the same.

Another explosion, powerful and debilitating, implodes. It's bigger- enough to shake the very skies, sending the stars a-trembling and moons a-shifting. Its enough to throw the starship sideways, hovering as it is half in-orbit and half space-bound. The tittering and laugh-exhaling from her in-laws stop, as they look up to the bridge in something approaching fear.

But Ella has eyes only for her planet. She knows what has happened before the herald declares it- electronic voice box ringing out. “Gallia has fallen!”. There are cheers from the bridge crew, notably on the younger side. The veteran captains just nod to each other mutely. The three royals let out excited keens, like hunting carrion birds, as they watch their very own home splinter and char. Ella is silent. Slowly, carefully, she presses her folded fist to her lips in a traditional mourning prayer.

And below her, the planet burns.

_________________________________________________________________

She was right. At gunpoint, Ella was marched through the city, forced to see the bombed remains of her homeland. On the whole walk, she didn’t see a single living thing- but she knows they’ll be out there. Her people- hiding in bomb-shelters and basements, for the all-clear bells that will never ring.

By the time she reaches the Skycastle, she knows who will be waiting.

King Cole.

The old man is so very, very old.

His unnatural lifespan has not gone without notice. Skin stretched like paper, hair like wire. His whole face could be measured with rulers, for how sharp his facial features are. Finally, Ella can face the person who has sacked her planet. Her one true enemy.

The rage she feels is cold enough to rival space.

The wide throne room has been filled with all the tittering nobles who were too stupid to hide, mingling with the red uniforms of King Coles soldiers and personal guard. Off to the side, again, her Stepmother and her ilk drift. Alone, Ella stands. She doesn’t move, doesn’t ‘chat’, merely stands where she had been placed.

It takes almost an hour before the court is finally brought to attention. In that time at least two dozen more Red-robed soldiers had made their way in, some dragging Gallian citizens behind them.

They where not the only people dragged to this mockery of a court.

Her father has been dragged out to stand in front of Cole- self-defined king of kings. It is pathetic to watch, thinks Ella, even as a sharp spike of shame curdles her stomach. Pathetic is, however, the only word she can use to describe him. Boneless and comatose he hangs there, a guard on either side of him. Not to constrain, but to drag. His eyes are open, but he cannot see, cannot comprehend the vastness of his betrayal, the horror of his now conquered planet.

Her Stepmother watches in apathy.

 _How could you?_ Ella internally screams. _He loved you! He married you! And for what?_

This anger is building, the injustice of it all swallowing her in some mindless haze, and suddenly all she wants to do is _defy_ , _resist_ , show this tyrant-king that she will not be broken.

She lunges forward, shoulders braced, to drive her fist into a guard’s face. The bone-deep _crunch_ shudders through her arm- her knuckles burning. The Solider falls backwards, blood and tears streaming from his face.

There is no victory to be won here. Nothing to be gained. But _damn_ if punching that brute hadn’t been fucking cathartic.

The chittering of the royal house has stopped, as civilian and soldiers stare at her with differing expressions.

The other guard stands in confusion, still supporting her father. She can see it on his face, the choice between dropping the brain-dead monarch and containing this younger threat. Ella is about to make the choice for him when a set of strong arms pins her back- forcing her wrists together and fastening them with cold metal.

She doesn’t even struggle.

The guard she punched rights himself, hand over his nose- as if he can protect it from a wound already administered. He begins to surge forward, undoubtedly to pay her favour back tenfold.

Cole raises a hand. Wrinkled, yellow, and pale, it halts the soldier in his tracks. He nods, which seems to be a pre-agreed cue for _something_ \- what, Ella isn’t sure, but it seems to calm the guard, who smiles as he pulls something from his back.

A plasma rifle.

This isn’t a negotiation, it’s an execution.

Ella refuses to shut her eyes.

The trigger is pulled. The sound of the gunshot rips through the throne room, almost violent in its silence. _The gun must be modified_ -she thinks distantly- _for stealth_. 

No one moves

And then slowly, her father falls to the ground.

There was always some small hope, in the back of her mind, that one day her father would wake up. Would smile. Would throw open her curtains to let the sun in and say, ‘Come on Ella, you can’t sleep all day’. It was, she reflects, a stupid hope. Regardless- King Cole has ripped even that from her, has shoved this grief into a space reserved for relentless optimism.

As if this shot has started a land fall, shots begin to ring out- top nobles and officials, intellects and organisers, targeted indiscriminately. The crowd is culled, until there is only a fraction of her people left.

Silence reigns, and still, her Stepmother stares.

Then she steps forward, steel-toed boots stabbing against the floor. With all the grace she possesses in her spindly frame she bows, then leans forward to kiss the offered (disgusting) hand. Her spawn follows suit. Behind the throne, a solider looks over the article of surrender and nods.

Finally, the Tremaine dynasty- and the planet Gallia- has been defeated.

But apparently this is not enough for this new King. Far off in the distance, almost inaudible, a tremor begins. Then another.

Through the massive glass walls Ella can see the cause- massive explosions at the edge of the castle. They’re similar to the star-bombs that had destroyed the Skycastle- both silent, both shockingly white in colour. The sole differences were in size, and flammability.

As the explosions began to dentate closer and closer, Ella can see the impact they’re having. Flames, massive fires, springing from every crater. How, Ella isn't sure. Nothing on this planet was made of wood- or any organic material- and yet it all sprang to light, -marble charring and glass melting- in this infernal and unnatural heat that Cole has unleashed.

There is no bomb-shelter than could save you from this.

In the corner, her stepmother is making a ruckus. Obviously, she hadn’t known about this final destruction.

“You will keep your title, and your authority.” King Cole says wryly, looking strangely amused.

“No-” screams her Stepmother “-No, this isn’t what we agreed!’.  
King Cole merely laughs.  
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before bargaining with me, Queen”. He says the title with a mocking lilt, as if emphasising what it has cost her- what it has cost her people.

A planet on fire for the price of a name.

He turns his angular head towards Ella. The weight of his gaze is a terrible thing- it pins her in place like a deceased butterfly. Behind her, Ella imagines she can feel the heat of planet-fire lapping at her heels.

“As for you, Princess. I am willing to give you leniency, in exchange for your-” he pauses then, as if he hadn’t already planned out this deal in his mind- as if Ella wasn’t just another chess piece on his Gods forsaken board.

“Cooperation”.

Cooperation. Cooperation. Her life, for _cooperation._  
She has seen where cooperation has gotten her Stepmother- and her stepsisters. Barely a rung up from the people they betrayed. She has no wish, no qualm in hell, to join them. Before she can voice this, Cole begins to speak again.

“Regardless, do not think you will be released from your planets crimes. I am well aware of your attempted war efforts, _your highness_ ”. Finally, Ella snaps. She wrestles her bound arms from her unseen captor, taking a step forward

“I would rather _die_ than ever, ever, have to be in your _REVOLTING_ presence ever again. I would rather _burn_ , with my people-“

“You want to stay with your people?”

She shuts her mouth with an audible _snap_.

King Cole smiles.

“I hope you understand that I cannot just let you go. But, your people. Your people. Well, I can certainly give you something to remember.”

“Elizabeth Tremaine, Princess Regnant of Gallia, henceforth, you shall be stripped of your titles, your lands and your authorities. You shall be taken as a prisoner of war and a traitor to your king, on indefinite captivity.” King Cole leans back in his stolen throne as if providing distance to study something fascinating, or poisonous.

“In addition- you will no longer bear the name Elizabeth. You wished to be with your people? Now, you will carry your people with you. Always _._ From now on, you shall be addressed only as Cinders.”

Ah. She realizes. It was foolish of her to think that her father would be the war trophy. _Cinders_. The name echoes through the throne room and bounces from the mirrored roof. She can see her future, stretching out before her. Imprisoned, or worst, _supervised,_ kept within a gilded cage and brought out only in front of King Cole’s court- an example of his terror, an example of his _mercy_. The last child of an annihilated planet. The arrow-shaft of her heart rebels at the very thought- bringing a stinging pain to her fingers and tears to her eyes. This isn’t her people’s memory, it’s a mockery. The final insult to a dead empire. Finally, the trap is shut. And she faces it with her arms bound, her wings clipped, forbidden even from death. She desperately wants to blink her eyes clear.

But she is a Princess. She refuses to let Cole see her cry.

Be silent, says her mind. Be still, says her heart. And even beyond that, the secret gods and goddesses- the pantheon of her planet- seem to whisper in her ear. _The snake must be silent to strike. The owl must be quiet to hunt. Still, my child. Hold your blood like ice. Keep your mind like glass._

And so she stands. Feet freezing, hair askew, as she stares into the empty eyes of her new monarch. Her fathers’ blood is seeping distractingly towards her. Red, white. Red white. _Redwhite_.

Cinders bows.

_________________________________________________________________

_The reports had been rolling in for weeks now. Another town, razed. Another city, burnt. The war machine of King Cole just kept on churning- using the blood of Ella’s people as fuel. The steady stream of refugees turned into a torrent, war-torn families and fractured veterans trudging into the safety and security of the Skycastle. And still, the Queen refused to declare war.  
In hindsight, Ella realises that this was a sign. A warning signal of some deeper corruption. _

_But her planet hadn’t been to war in centuries, so Ella found herself sympathetic. To be known that it was her reign in which war was waged- well, it was not the legacy Ella herself wanted to leave. Regardless, this hesitance to stand up and fight went against Ella’s every instinct. She’s sure her father would have agreed with her- if he where not bedridden. Sitting with him, sometimes, Ella would read to him. Illuminated by twin moons, she would share the statistics of the refugees, the news from the war front, her stepmother’s decrees. She’d shut his unseeing eyes. Change out the flowers on his bedside. He never made any sign that he was listening- or even that he could comprehend what she was saying, but it stilled her mind to think that he wasn’t completely alone._

_Ella wasn’t idle during the day either. She organised relief efforts, stewarded informal defence forces- day in, day out, she did what she was raised for. Protected her people. Ruled her planet.  
Gods know her Stepmother wasn’t going to do it. _

_It was not enough. It was never going to be enough._

_More and more she found herself staring at the causality lists. watching scenes of carnage. Staging secret war councils in back ally bars and bookclubs. Still, Ella feared that it was a case of ‘too little, too late’. Wrenching some form of secret control over her court had taken a whole year, forcing action where her stepmother wanted to avoid it, resisting where she wanted submission. Ella was, at heart, peaceful. She wanted to be peaceful. But in the face of conflict, her people stood first. So Ella would fight, with them and for them._

_It had been almost two years since the Red legions had landed. Slowly but surely, they had carved their way into her planet. The fighting was closer now. The artillery fire and grenade blasts could be heard from the edge of the Skycastle. The war- for it was war, regardless of what her stepmother said- had dug its bloody fingers into every crevasse of her life. She could hear it in her streets. She could taste it in the water (refiltered, after the waterfarms where lost). She could feel it in her people. Fear. Panic. Worry._

_By the gods, it was taking its toll on her. She was tired. So very, very tired. She’d stopped visiting her father. She’d stopped sleeping. She’d stopped attending court- propriety be damned. But solitude brought no solace. After another time cycle of sleep avoiding her, she beat a tactical retreat to her balcony._

_Standing outside, the cold air nipping at her face and flinging her hair asunder, she stared at the stars. For tonight, it was peaceful. Her people slept. And as they dreamt, so did she- watching the ever-lasting stars._

_The sight brought her an ease deeper than sleep. White-bright and burning hot, they sang to her- Constant and steady, ringing with cosmic promise._

_Deep inside, Ella knew her destiny was out there- not on this glass sky-planet._

_Far off in the distance, the horizon was burning._

_The thrum of conflict added a discordant hum to the star-song. The deep beat that kept her ground-bound. She wouldn’t leave her people. Couldn’t. What sort of princess was she? To go flying into the stars, in pursuit of some deep reflex, some inbuilt flaw? No. She would die, alone and defeated, on her planet, with her people._

_It’s the least they deserved._

_Above her, a meteorite burned into the atmosphere, trailing plasma and burning space dust. Weird, she thought, for a meteorite shower at this time of year. Still, beautiful. A display of cosmic brilliance that would always outshine these mortals’ petty squabbles._

_In the city, the screams began._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I do not know what I am doing.  
> However, I m having fun!! Which is like 50% of the point right?


End file.
